Sourcebooks: Treasure Island

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Treasure Island Abridged from the original by

Robert Louis Stevenson Illustrations by

Francesca Greco

CD narrated by

Jasper Britton

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© 2008 by Naxos AudioBooks Limited Cover and internal design © 2008 by Sourcebooks, Inc. Cover illustration © Shana Gregor Internal illustrations © Francesca Greco Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc. P and © recordings and text under license from Naxos AudioBooks Limited.

Copyright persists in all recordings and texts. P and © Naxos AudioBooks Limited.

All rights reserved. Unlawful duplication, broadcast, or performance of this disc is prohibited by applicable law.

Published by Sourcebooks Jabberwocky, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc. P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410 (630) 961-3900 Fax: (630) 961-2168 www.sourcebooks.com Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Stevenson, Robert Louis.

Treasure Island : abridged from the original / by Robert Louis Stevenson. p. cm.

CD narrated by Jasper Britton.

Summary: An innkeeper’s son finds a treasure map that leads him to a pirate’s fortune and grave danger.

ISBN-13: 978-1-4022-1313-7 (alk. paper) ISBN-10: 1-4022-1313-1 (alk. paper) [1. Buried treasure—Fiction. 2. Pirates—Fiction. 3. Adventure and adventurers—Fiction.

4. Caribbean Area—History—18th century—Fiction.] I. Britton, Jasper. II. Title.

PZ7.S8482Tr 2008 [Fic]—dc22 2008009133

Printed and bound in the United States of America.

LBM 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

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CONTENTS Chapter 1: Black Dog Appears and Disappears . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1 Chapter 2: The Sea-chest . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11 Chapter 3: I Go to Bristol . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23 Chapter 4: The Voyage . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 33 Chapter 5: What I Heard in the Apple Barrel . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43 Chapter 6: The First Blow . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 57 Chapter 7: Narrative Continued by the Doctor: How the Ship Was Abandoned . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 69 Chapter 8: Narrative Resumed by Jim Hawkins . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 77 Chapter 9: How My Sea Adventure Began . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 89 Chapter 10: On Parole . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 103 Chapter 11: The Treasure-Hunt . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 117 Chapter 12: The Fall of a Chieftain . . . . . . 125 About the Author . . . . . . . . . 138

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TRACK 1

Chapter 1

BLACK DOG APPEARS AND D ISAPPEARS

S

quire Trelawney, Dr. Livesey, and the rest of these

gentlemen having asked me to write down the whole

particulars about Treasure Island, I take up my pen and go back to the time when my father kept the Admiral Benbow inn and the brown old seaman with the sabre cut first took up his lodging under our roof. I remember him looking round the cove and whistling to himself as he did so, and then breaking out in that old sea-song that he sang so often afterwards:

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“Fifteen men on the dead man’s chest— Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!”

“Here you, matey,” he cried to the man who trundled the barrow; “bring up alongside and help up my chest.”

He was a very silent man by custom. Every day when he came back from his stroll he would ask if any seafaring men had gone by along the road. When a seaman did put up at the Admiral Benbow he would look in at him through the curtained door before he entered the parlour; and he was always sure to be as silent as a mouse when any such was present. He had taken me aside one day and promised me a silver fourpenny on the first of every month if I would only keep my “weather-eye open for a seafaring man with one leg” and let him know the moment he appeared.

His stories were what frightened people worst of all.

Dreadful stories they were—about hanging, and walking the plank, and storms at sea, and the Dry Tortugas, and 2

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wild deeds and places on the Spanish Main. The great sea-chest none of us had ever seen open.

F F F

It was one January morning, very early—a pinching, frosty morning. The captain had risen earlier than usual and set out down the beach, his cutlass swinging under the broad skirts of the old blue coat, his brass telescope under his arm, his hat tilted back upon his head.

The parlour door opened and a man stepped in on whom I had never set my eyes before. He was a pale, tallowy creature, wanting two fingers of the left hand, and though he wore a cutlass, he did not look much like a fighter. He was not sailorly, and yet he had a smack of the sea about him too.

I asked him what was for his service, and he said he would take rum; but as I was going out of the room to fetch it, he sat down upon a table and motioned me to draw near.

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“Is this here table for my mate Bill? He has a cut on one cheek and a mighty pleasant way with him, particularly in drink, has my mate Bill. Now, is Bill in this here house?”

I told him he was out walking.

At last in strode the captain, slammed the door behind him, without looking to the right or left, and marched straight across the room to where his breakfast awaited him.

“Bill,” said the stranger in a voice that I thought he had tried to make bold and big. The captain spun round on his heel and fronted us.

“Black Dog!” said he.

“And who else?” returned the other.

“Now, look here,” said the captain; “you’ve run me down; here I am; well, then, speak up; what is it?”

“We’ll sit down, if you please, and talk square, like old shipmates.”

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He bade me go and leave the door wide open. “None of your keyholes for me, sonny,” he said; and I left them together and retired into the bar.

Then all of a sudden there was a tremendous explosion of oaths and other noises—the chair and table went over in a lump, a clash of steel followed, and then a cry of pain, and the next instant I saw Black Dog in full flight, and the captain hotly pursuing, both with drawn cutlasses, and the former streaming blood from the left shoulder. The captain passed his hand over his eyes several times and at last turned back into the house.

“Jim,” says he, “rum”; and as he spoke, he reeled a little, and caught himself with one hand against the wall.

“Rum,” he repeated. “I must get away from here. Rum!” I ran to fetch it, but I heard a loud fall in the parlour, and running in, beheld the captain lying full length upon the floor. At the same instant my mother, 5

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alarmed by the cries and fighting, came running downstairs to help me. Between us we raised his head. He was breathing

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very loud and hard, but his eyes were closed and his face a horrible colour. It was a happy relief for us when the door opened and Doctor Livesey came in, on his visit to my father.

“Oh, doctor,” we cried, “what shall we do? Where is he wounded?”

“Wounded!” said the doctor. “No more wounded than you or I. The man has had a stroke, I warned him. He should lie for a week where he is—that’s the best thing for him and you; but another stroke would settle him.”

About noon I stopped at the captain’s door with some cooling drinks and medicines.

“Jim,” he said, “you saw that seafaring man today?

He’s a bad un; but there’s worse that put him on. Now, if I can’t get away no-how, and they tip me the black spot, mind you, it’s my old sea-chest they’re after; you get on a horse—and go to that eternal doctor swab, and tell him 8

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to pipe all hands—magistrates and sich—and he’ll lay ’em aboard at the Admiral Benbow—all old Flint’s crew, man and boy, all on ’em that’s left. I was first mate, I was, and I’m the on’y one as knows the place. He gave it me at Savannah, when he lay a-dying. But you won’t peach unless they get the black spot on me, or unless you see that Black Dog again or a seafaring man with one leg, Jim—him above all.”

“But what is the black spot, captain?” I asked.

“That’s a summons, mate. I’ll tell you if they get that.

But you keep your weather-eye open, Jim, and I’ll share with you equals, upon my honour.”

Probably I should have told the whole story to the doctor, for I was in mortal fear lest the captain should repent of his confessions and make an end of me. But as things fell out, my poor father died quite suddenly that evening, which put all other matters on one side.

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TRACK 2

Chapter 2

THE SEA -CHEST

T

he day after the funeral, and about three o’clock of a bitter, foggy, frosty afternoon, I was standing at

the door for a moment, full of sad thoughts about my father, when I saw someone drawing slowly near along the road. He stopped a little from the inn, and raising his voice in an odd sing-song, addressed the air in front of him, “Will any kind friend inform a poor blind man, who has lost the precious sight of his eyes in the gracious defence of his native country, England, where or in what part of this country he may now be?”

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“You are at the Admiral Benbow, Black Hill Cove, my good man,” said I. I held out my hand, and the horrible, soft-spoken, eyeless creature gripped it in a moment like a vice.

“Now, boy,” he said, “take me in to the captain.”

I began to obey him at once, walking straight in at the door and towards the parlour, where our sick old buccaneer was sitting, dazed with rum. The poor captain raised his eyes, and at one look the rum went out of him and left him staring sober.

“Now, Bill, sit where you are,” said the beggar, and I saw him pass something from the hollow of the hand that held his stick into the palm of the captain’s, which closed upon it instantly.

“And now that’s done,” said the blind man; and with incredible accuracy and nimbleness, skipped out of the parlour and into the road.

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It was some time before either I or the captain seemed to gather our senses, but at length he drew in his hand and looked sharply into the palm.

“Ten o’clock!” he cried. “Six hours. We’ll do them yet,” and he sprang to his feet. Even as he did so, he reeled, put his hand to his throat, stood swaying for a moment, and then, with a peculiar sound, fell from his whole height face foremost to the floor. The captain had been struck dead by thundering apoplexy.

F F F

I lost no time, of course, in telling my mother all that I knew and we saw ourselves at once in a difficult and dangerous position. It occurred to us at last to go forth together and seek help in the neighbouring hamlet.

The short and the long of the matter was, that while we could get several who were willing enough to ride to Dr. Livesey’s, which lay in another direction, not one 14

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would help us to defend the inn. When each had said his say, my mother made them a speech. “If none of the rest of you dare,” she said, “Jim and I dare. Back we will go, the way we came, and small thanks to you big, hulking, chicken-hearted men. We’ll have that chest open, if we die for it. And I’ll thank you for that bag, Mrs. Crossley, to bring back our lawful money in.”

We slipped back along the hedges, till, to our relief, the door of the Admiral Benbow had

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closed behind us. I slipped the bolt at once, and we stood and panted for a moment in the dark, alone in the house with the dead captain’s body. On the floor close to his hand there was a little round of paper, blackened

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on the one side. I could not doubt that this was the BLACK SPOT; and taking it up, I found written on the other side, in a very good, clear hand, this short message: “You have till ten tonight.�

Our old clock began striking but the news was good, for it was only six.

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“Now, Jim,” she said, “the key. Perhaps it’s round his neck.”

I tore open his shirt at the neck, and there, sure enough, hanging to a bit of tarry string, we found the key and hurried upstairs.

“Give me the key,” said my mother; and though the lock was very stiff, she had turned it and thrown back

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the lid in a twinkling. A strong smell of tobacco and tar rose from the interior and there lay before us a bundle tied up in oilcloth, and looking like papers, and a canvas bag that gave forth, at a touch, the jingle of gold.

“I’ll show these rogues that I’m an honest woman,” said my mother. “I’ll have my dues, and not a farthing over.”

“And I’ll take this to square the count,” said I, picking up the oilskin packet.

Next moment we were both groping downstairs, leaving the candle by the empty chest; and the next we had opened the door and were in full retreat. Far less than half-way to the hamlet, very little beyond the bottom of the hill, the sound of several footsteps running came to our ears.

Three men ran together, hand in hand; and I made out, even through the mist, that the middle man of this 19

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trio was the blind beggar. The next moment his voice showed me that I was right.

“Down with the door!” he cried.

Four or five of them obeyed at once, two remaining on the road with the formidable beggar. There was a pause, then a cry of surprise, and then a voice shouting from the house, “Bill’s dead. They’ve been before us. Someone’s turned the chest out alow and aloft.”

“It’s these people of the inn—it’s that boy. Scatter, lads, and find ’em.”

Another sound then came from the top of the hill on the side of the hamlet—the tramp of horses galloping.

The buccaneers turned at once and ran, separating in every direction, so that in half a minute not a sign of them remained but Pew. He remained behind, tapping up and down the road in a frenzy, and groping and calling for his comrades. Just then the noise of horses topped 20

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the rise, and four or five riders came in sight in the moonlight and swept at full gallop down the slope. At this Pew saw his error, turned with a scream, and ran straight for the ditch, into which he rolled. But he was on his feet again in a second and made another dash, now utterly bewildered, right under the nearest of the coming horses.

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TRACK 3

Chapter 3

I GO TO BRISTOL

I

leaped to my feet and hailed the riders. One, tailing out behind the rest, was a lad that had gone

from the hamlet to Dr. Livesey’s; the rest were revenue officers. Some news of the lugger in Kitts Hole had found its way to Supervisor Dance, and set him forth in our direction. I went back with him to the Admiral Benbow, and you cannot imagine a house in such a state of smash.

“Well, then, Hawkins, what in fortune were they after?”

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“I believe I have the thing in my breast pocket; and to tell you the truth, I should like to get it put in safety.”

“To be sure, boy; quite right,” said he. “I’ll take it, if you like.”

“I thought perhaps Dr. Livesey—” I began.

“Perfectly right,” he interrupted very cheerily, “a gentleman and a magistrate. And, now I come to think of it, I might as well ride round there myself and report to him or squire. Now, I’ll tell you, Hawkins, if you like, I’ll take you along.”

We rode hard all the way till we drew up before Dr. Livesey’s door. Mr. Dance told me to jump down and knock.

“Is Dr. Livesey in?” I asked.

“No,” said the maid, he had come home in the afternoon but had gone up to the hall to dine and pass the evening with the squire.

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“So there we go, boys,” said Mr. Dance.

“Come in, Mr. Dance,” says the squire, very stately and condescending.

“Good evening, Dance,” says the doctor with a nod.

“And good evening to you, friend Jim. What good wind brings you here?”

The supervisor stood up straight and stiff and told his story like a lesson.

“Mr. Dance,” said the squire, “you are a very noble fellow. This lad Hawkins is a trump, I perceive.”

“And so, Jim,” said the doctor, “you have the thing that they were after, have you?”

“Here it is, sir,” said I, and gave him the oilskin packet.

I made a hearty supper, for I was as hungry as a hawk, while Mr. Dance was further complimented and at last dismissed.

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“And now, squire,” said the doctor. “You have heard of this Flint, I suppose?”

“Heard of him!” cried the squire. “Heard of him, you say! He was the blood-thirstiest buccaneer that sailed.

Blackbeard was a child to Flint.”

“What I want to know is this: supposing that I have here in my pocket some clue to where Flint buried his treasure, will that treasure amount to much?”

“It will amount to this: if we have the clue you talk about, I fit out a ship in Bristol dock, and take you and Hawkins here along, and I’ll have that treasure if I search a year.”

“Very well,” said the doctor. “Now, then, if Jim is agreeable, we’ll open the packet.” The doctor opened the seals with great care, and there fell out the map of an island, with latitude and longitude, soundings, names of hills and bays and inlets, and a hill in the centre part 26

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marked “The Spy-glass.”

There were several additions of a later date, but above all, three crosses of red ink—two on the north part of the island, one in the southwest—and beside this last, in the same red ink, and in a small, neat hand, very different from

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the captain’s tottery characters, these words: “Bulk of treasure here.”

“Livesey,” said the squire, “you will give up this wretched practice at once. Tomorrow I start for Bristol. In three weeks’ time—three weeks!—two weeks—ten days—we’ll have the best ship, sir, and the choicest crew in England. Hawkins shall come as cabin-boy. You’ll make a famous cabin-boy, Hawkins. You, Livesey, are ship’s doctor; I am admiral. We’ll take Redruth,

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Joyce, and Hunter. We’ll have favourable winds, a quick passage, and not the least difficulty in finding the spot, and money to eat, to roll in, to play duck and drake with ever after.”

F F F

So the weeks passed on, till one fine day there came a letter addressed to Dr. Livesey.

Old Anchor Inn, Bristol, March 1, Dear Livesey—The ship is bought and fitted.

Two hundred tons; name, Hispaniola. It was the crew that troubled me. I wished a round score of men till the most remarkable stroke of fortune brought me the very man that I required. I was standing on the dock, when, I fell in talk with him. I found he was an old sailor, kept a public-house, knew all the seafaring men in Bristol, had lost his health ashore, and wanted 29

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a good berth as cook to get to sea again. I engaged him on the spot to be ship’s cook. Long John Silver, he is called, and has lost a leg; but that I regarded as a recommendation, since he lost it in his country’s service, under the immortal Hawke. Between Silver and myself we got together in a few days a company of the toughest old salts imaginable—not pretty to look at, but fellows, by their faces, of the most indomitable spirit. Let young Hawkins go at once to see his mother, with Redruth for a guard; and then both come full speed to Bristol.

John Trelawney

I said good-bye to Mother and the cove where I had lived since I was born, and the dear old Admiral Benbow.

In Bristol we met Squire Trelawney, all dressed out like a sea-officer, in stout blue cloth.

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“Here you are,” he cried, “and the doctor came last night from London. Bravo! The ship’s company complete! We sail tomorrow!”

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Weho pet ha ty o ue nj o y e d r e a di ngt hi sf r e eo nl i nepr e v i e w.

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